WHAT is a mine-a treasury—a dower—
A magic talisman of mighty power?
A poet's wide possession of the earth:
He has th' enjoyment of a flower's birth
Before its budding-ere the first red streaks,
And winter cannot rob him of their cheeks.
Look if his dawn be not ere other men's!
Twenty bright flushes-ere another kens
The first of sunlight is abroad, he sees
Its gold election of the topmost trees,
And opes the splendid fissures of the morn.
When do his fruits delay? When doth his corn
Linger for harvesting? Before the leaf
Is commonly abroad, in his piled sheaf
The flagging poppies lose their ardent flame.
No sweet there is, no pleasure you can name,
But he will sip it first-before the lees ;-
'Tis his to taste rich honey ere the bees
Are busy with the brooms: he may forestal
June's rosy advent for his coronal,
Before expectance buds upon the bough,
Twining his thoughts to bloom upon his brow.
Oh! blest to see the flower in its seed,
Before its leafy presence; for, indeed,
Leaves are but wings on which the summer flies,
And each thing, perishable, fades and dies,
Except in thought; but his rich thinkings be
Like overflows of immortality—
So that what there is steeped shall perish never,
But live and bloom, and be a joy for ever!
TIME was I liked a cheesecake well enough;
All human children have a sweetish taste-
I used to revel in a pie, or puff,
Or tart-we all were tartars in our youth;
To meet with jam or jelly was good luck,
All candies most complacently I crumped,
A stick of liquorice was good to suck,
And sugar was as often liked as lumped;
On treacle's 'linkèd sweetness long drawn out,'
Or honey, I could feast like any fly,
I thrilled when lollipops were hawk'd about,
How pleased to compass hard bake or bull's eye,
How charmed if fortune in my power cast
Elecampane-but that campaign is past!
ODE TO N. A. VIGORS, ESQ.
ON THE PUBLICATION OF 'THE GARDENS AND MENAGERIE
OF THE ZOOLOGICAL SOCIETY'
'Give you good den.'-Shakespeare.
So Mr. V.,-no Vigors-I beg pardon-
You've published your Zoological Garden!
A book of which I've heard a deal of talk,
And your Menagérie—indeed, 'tis too bad o' me,
But I have never seen your Beast Academy!
Or set my feet
Or ever wandered in your 'Bird-cage Walk.'
Yet, I believe that you were truly born
To be a kind of brutal overseer,
And, like the royal quarterings, appear
Between a lion and a unicorn:
There is a sort of reason about rhyme
That I have pondered many, many a time;
Where words, like birds of feather,
Likely to come together,
Are quite prophetically made to chime :
So your own office is forestalled, O Vigors !
Your proper Surname having but one single
Appropriate jingle,
-Tigers !
Where is your gardening volume? like old Mawe's!
Containing rules for cultivating brutes,
Through April, May or June,
As thus-now rake your Lions' manes, and prune
Your Tigers' claws;
About the middle of the month, if fair,
Give your Chameleons air;
Choose shady walls for Owls,
Water your Fowls,
And plant your Leopards in the sunniest spots;
Earth up your Beavers; train your Bears to climb;
Thin out your Elephants about this time;
And set some early Kangaroos in pots.
In some warm sheltered place,
Prepare a hot-bed for the Boa race,
Leaving them room to swell;
Prick out your Porcupines; and blanch your Ermine;
Stick up Opossums; trim your Monkeys well;
Oh, tell me, Mr. Vigors! for the fleas
Of curiosity begin to tease-
If they bite rudely I must crave your pardon,
But if a man may ask,
You have to do in this exotic garden?
If from your title one may guess your ends,
You are a sort of Secretary Bird
From ignorant brute beasts to absent friends.
Does ever the poor little Coati Mundi
Beg you to write to ma'
To ask papa
To send him a new suit to wear on Sunday?
Does Mrs. L. request you'll be so good
-Acting a sort of Urban to Sylvanus-
As write to her two children in the wood,'
Addressed-post paid-to Leo Africanus ?
Does ever the great Sea-Bear Londinensis
Make you amanuensis
To send out news to some old Arctic stager-
'Pray write that Brother Bruin, on the whole,
Has got a head on this day's pole,
And say my Ursa has been made a Major '?
Do you not write dejected letters-very-
Describing England for poor 'Happy Jerry,'
Unlike those emigrants who take in flats,
Throwing out New South Wales for catching sprats?
Of course your penmanship you ne'er refuse
For 'begging letters' from poor Kangaroos ;
Of course you manage bills and their acquittance,
And sometimes pen for Pelican a double
Letter to Mrs. P., and brood in trouble,
Enclosing a small dab, as a remittance;
Or send from Mrs. B. to her old cadger,
Her full-length, done by Hervey, that rare draughtsman
And skilful craftsman,
A game one too, for he can draw a Badger.
Does Dr. Bennett never come and trouble you
To break the death of Wolf to Mrs. W. ?
To say poor Buffalo his last has puffed,
And died quite suddenly, without a will,
Soothing the widow with a tender quill,
And gently hinting-would she like him stuffed?
Does no old sentimental Monkey weary
Your hand at times to vent his scribbling itch?
And there your pen must answer to the query
Of Dame Giraffe, who has been told her deary
Died on the spot-and wishes to know which?
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